On Short Notice
by PercivalPale
Summary: A detective travels from Stormwind to Dalaran to discover a world of mystery. Reviews greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A man's career is, predominantly, the line of work he falls in love with the most. This passion is often incomprehensible to anyone but himself and, thusly, a man's career is his own creation. However, it takes a certain kind of aptitude and genius to understand why someone does what they do, for a genius knows what he wants to do, and knows what he is looking for.

So describes the mind of Miles Garling, a resident of Elwynn Forest and soon afterwards, Stormwind. He was a plain man, not too tall or short. Fair complexion, fair looks, a fair way of getting about the world. What was not apparent in his physical form was in abundance mentally. He was wittier than his contemporaries, a faster thinker than his colleagues, and one of the most intellectual men to reside in Stormwind. He was not very faithful, however. Acquaintances would come and go, as would his friends, and even his lovers. He had no faith in humans, or dwarves, or any species to come across his way, for that matter. He was succinctly introverted, thinking more than speaking. Perhaps this was his greatest strength, the magic of thought and reflection. He had no physical strength, no mastery with the arcane or the fel magicks, no connection with nature. He had wits, and the knowledge of firing a gun. So, this is a man, not a legend. This is Miles Garling.

Miles' career was that of a detective. He had searched many cases over: murders, robberies, crimes of passion. His innate knowledge of the mind kept him busy, and successful. The Stormwind Government, on the other hand, did not want anything to do with him. Every time a crime was reported, Miles would be a step ahead of the police force. However, it is a lie to proclaim that Miles was popular with the people. He had a vigilante status, neither praised nor despised. He would often get into barfights, be thrown in jail, then released a day later. He always wondered why they released him, despite his terrible rap sheet. He came to the conclusion that he was released because they knew he could do the job better.

For Miles, though, Stormwind was becoming boring. There was never a change in weather. The same sun and breeze would come and go. Nights were temperate, even in the winter. Ironforge would not satisfy him either. The thick air caused by the forges were not thick enough, apparently. So, in his quest for a new intellectual experience, Miles thought of traveling to Northrend, the former doorstep of the Lich King, who was now presumed defeated by heroes much more grandiose than himself. He wanted to make his home Dalaran, the city of the Kirin Tor. It was a cold city, to say the least, all the way in the sky over Crystalsong Forest. It was colder still, due to the unemotional personalities of the Magocracy. Perhaps that is what Miles prefered, a cold sensibility.

So, Miles had made plans to move to a small flat in Dalaran. He talked to his one very true friend, James, about his departure from the Eastern Kingdoms. He was about to get on the ferry to Northrend when they exchanged their last words.

"So, old fellow, I'm finally leaving the city."

"Ah, yes. I'm wondering why you would leave, though. Dalaran has barely any crime, and the mages are so vigilant you won't make a copper doing any sort of casework."

"I always have the option of moving back here, yes? This is just an intellectual visit. I will stay there, read, make the company of intellectuals, and so on."

"So, I am not an intellectual? At least not in your eyes, Miles? I've been your friend for years, and now you leave for a study trip?"

Miles did not seem very affected by his words,

"Old sport, I am not leaving forever. I am simply going on a trip to Dalaran. And you were always the most intelligent person I had ever met. I do not doubt your intelligence for a second."

"Oh, alright, then... I just don't understand, with the Lich King dead, why anyone would venture to Northrend anymore. I mean, you're not even than strong! This whole 'intellectual visit' is a bunch of trite. You just want to abandon anyone who gets close enough to you. That's how it's always been." James had a tint of regret in his voice, as if he knew his words would have no effect on Miles or the decisions he made.

"James, if you truly believe this, then begone. I will return in a matter of months, and if you feel abandoned, find another confidant. Lest you feel too emotionally overcome to keep your secrets bottled up inside. Goodbye, for now." Miles boarded the vessel, as James stood there, overcome by sadness that his friend was leaving him. This was Miles protocol for social situations. He would make excellent friends with people, and then suddenly abandon them. It would be very safe to say that he had problems becoming too intimate with people, for what reason we cannot be certain. Miles simply did not share the emotional bonds that other people had for him.

The ferry voyage was long, taking several days to complete. The advertised "instant trip" was false, and this was troubling for Miles. The hammocks provided in the general quarters were uncomfortable, and the food served was tasteless and boring. Miles wrote in his diary:

"Perhaps there is a payoff to all of this needless boredom and uncomfortableness."

On the third day, the ferry arrived at the Borean Tundra. Miles did not particularly enjoy this part of Northrend, as there was little to no vegetation to be found. Miles did not enjoy flying either, so the flight from Valiance Keep to Dalaran was nauseating to the extreme. He almost threw up on the Dalaran flight master, but was able to keep his lunch where it was.

The city was amazing. Purple, scarlet, and sapphire towers rose into the sky. Clouds would run through them, like long hair through a comb. The crystalline foundations of the city would resonate when a breeze would come through, providing a calming sensation. Many fountains and parks were available, including a display in honor of those who had defeated Arthas. People were friendly, but disengaging. They wanted little to do with people, other than help them on their way. The views were spectacular as well. From Miles' flat, he could see Fjords and mountain ranges stretching on for hundreds of miles. This seemed to be paradise for him. After a trip to the local bank, and a trip to a small eatery for some food, Miles came to his flat. It was a rather beautiful space, with gray stone walls. Inside the walls, gems were installed. These stones seemed to radiate a warm, orange glow which atmospherically lighted the room. There was furniture already installed, so all Miles had to do was unpack his belongings and place them in their designated locations. After searching through his stuff, however, he discovered that he was missing something.

"My pistol. I must've left it in Stormwind. I can always buy another one."

It was now late dusk, and Miles had left his flat and went to a local arms shop, surveying the various weapons available. The shopkeeper greeted him rather kindly.

"Looking for something, specific?"

"Yes. Just a pistol, any will do." Miles wanted to get done with this as soon as possible.

"I'll see what I have, then."

The shopkeeper went back to a room for a moment, then came back with an ornate pistol.

"It's got a device in it you see... it's a rotating barrel. It allows you to fire six shots before you reload. It's fantastic!"

"Yes. I will take that." Miles did not share the man's enthusiasm.

"Alright, then. It'll be 13 gold." As Miles put the money on the table, the Shopkeeper tried to reason why he would need a pistol.

"You don't look like an adventurer. Why would you need this?"

"Protection, of course."

"In Dalaran? You'd be crazy to even assume that you would need that here."

"Trust me, I need it more than you know."

"Alright then. Here you go."

As Miles left the shop, the man addressed him once more,

"Be careful with that! And be ready to use it on short notice!"

It's debatable whether or not miles followed his instruction.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Miles awoke late the next day. He often stayed awake very late into the night, only going to bed when he was absolutely exhausted. It was now afternoon, and Miles had some business to attend to. He was invited a dinner party held by one of the local aristocrats by the name of Johansson. Few people really knew him, but he did throw lavish parties every week. It was odd that Miles was to be invited to this party, for nobody was really invited. The door was left open, and people would swarm in to enjoy Mr. Johansson's lavish appetizers and entertainment. He received the invitation near dusk, and he had only hours to prepare. The invitation read:

"The Right Honorable Paul Johansson would be honored to have you attend his dinner party tonight, at 18:00 hours." The address was included, and was not far away from Miles' flat. He wondered if he should actually accept the invitation, seeing that he did not bode well with people. But he remembered his reason for being in Dalaran, intellectual gain. He assumed that his Johansson fellow would entertain him in the fields of psychology, history, and politics. So, he decided that it would be the best to attend. He didn't have much in the field of formal wear, just a trilby and an suit he picked up in Stormwind prior to his departure. About half an hour before the party, a storm system moved over Dalaran, covering the city in light rain, so Miles decided to bring a heavy raincoat.

At 18:00 hours, Miles left his flat to attend Mr. Johansson's party. The house was immaculate. Three stories tall, round and robust. It featured a terrace, and even a small rotunda for the guests to lounge in. The house itself was covered in warm light, like Miles' flat. Many sorts of people could be found enjoying the atmosphere; Mages, Dignitaries, Socialites, Vagabonds. Johansson did not seem to mind if people just walked into his house, ate his food, and ran off. In fact, he made little contact with people, other than to make them happy. A woman's dress had torn during a waltz in the rotunda, and Johansson had offered to pay for a new, even more dazzling one. In a sense, he was the perfect host, and the absolute worst one, having nothing to do with his guests, but making them comfortable anyways. When Miles arrived, a string quintet was performing a quel'dorei piece. The party was in full swing. Miles grabbed some fruit and a glass of complementary champagne and explored the house.

There were about 8 rooms in the house. 3 bedrooms, a library, the rotunda, a large living space, and a dining room. Miles stayed to the library for the majority of the party, reviewing over Mr. Johansson's many texts and tomes. Few people went into the library. Most of them were very drunk, and needed a place to retire from the party. After a few hours, a tall man in a white silken suit appeared in the library. The few drunkards sitting in their chairs started to whisper to each other, as if the man had some sort of reverence around him. He approached Miles, who was skimming over a rather large text on the Howling Fjord.

"Enjoying your text, sir?"

"I suppose so. It's the only interesting thing I've done so far at this party."

"You aren't enjoying yourself, here?"

"Well, it's not like I walked into a study hall or anything. There's nothing of intellectual value here, and most of these drunkards are more shallow than the fountains in Dalaran."

"I apologize then. If there's a way to make you feel more at home, then tell me, and I'll make it my mission."

"Well, I heard this Johansson fellow is one-of-a-kind. Perhaps you could direct me towards him."

The man in the white suit seemed perplexed at Miles request.

"I am Johansson."

"Oh, I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to-"

"That's quite alright. Few people actually know me, and those that do never show up."

"Well, I received a formal invitation from you, Mr. Johansson." Miles was as polite as possible

"Did you? You must be Miles, the man who just arrived from Stormwind." Miles looked a bit off-guard as Johansson said this

"Why, yes... How did you know?"

"You moved into an apartment complex to which I am co-owner of. You are new here, so I thought I would invite you to one of my lavish parties."

"So, that's the only reason why you invited me? Because I'm new?" Miles was speaking in a condescending tone.

"Well, you certainly don't look like any one here. They all come to drink the booze and enjoy the temporary life that comes with these parties. You, however, dress in an old suit, a hat, and a raincoat. You are not the kind of person who particularly likes parties. You like the pursuit of knowledge."

Miles was astounded to find someone he could even remotely call his equal. Here, in Johansson, was a rich, intellectual man who cared more about people's thoughts rather than their petty lives. So, over the course of the party, Miles and Mr. Johansson talked over many things. Miles was happy that, just a day after his arrival in the city, he had already found what he was looking for. Late into the night, about 2 hours into the next day, Johansson closed the party down. Drunkards and sober attendants alike hurried out of the mansion. Miles was one of the last to leave.

"I'm going now, sir. I enjoyed the chat we had, it was very stimulating." Miles put on his hat and coat.

"Yes, well, I hope it was enough for you, Miles. You might not get another one like that." Miles was confused at Johansson's choice of words.

"Well, goodbye sir."

As Miles walked out of the mansion, the doors closed and the lights turned off, save for one, which belonged to Johansson's living quarters. Miles started to walk home from his flat, the rain lightly pouring down on him. Some streetlights were illuminated, giving a faint glow to the buildings around him. Miles returned to his flat, put his coat and hat away, and slipped into some evening wear. He tried to sleep for an hour or two, but found himself drawn to Mr. Johansson's intellect. He put some more informal clothes on, along with his hat and coat, and started to walk towards his estate.

When Miles came to the front gate, he found that the door was left open. This was very strange, as a man as rich as Johansson would not just leave his doors open. Miles slowly tip-toed into the dark house. No lights were on, and the only illumination was the moonlight streaking through the windows. Perhaps Johansson had not locked his door properly, and the wind blew it open. Perhaps someone had broken in, but Miles couldn't see any signs of that happening.

"Mr. Johansson, sir? Your door was open, I'm just checking to see if you're ok." Miles said this rather loudly. He received no response, however. Perhaps his new found friend was asleep. Miles slowly moved up the stairs, making sure he didn't make too much noise. If there was indeed an intruder in the house, he did not want to alert him. As Miles approached Johansson's study, he found him sitting in a lounge chair in front of a rather large window. A cigarette was held in place by two of his fingers, which were off to his side. The smoke from cigarette, combined with the moonlight, created an ethereal atmosphere. Johansson was but a silhouette in this room. Miles slowly walked over to where Johansson was sitting, and tapped his shoulder.

"Mr. Johansson?"

He was cold to the touch. Miles tapped harder, and Johansson's head fell back. Miles saw a bullet wound in Johansson's chest. Someone was here. Someone murdered him. Out of Johansson's other hand fell a slip of paper. Miles cautiously picked it up, reading the single word printed.

"ROSETTA"

What was Rosetta? A person? A place? The title of an object? It could be anything, quiet possibly. Now, Miles started to think. Who would do this to Johansson? He had no real friends, no acquaintances. He was well known in Dalaran, so nobody would dare even try to harm him. Next to Johansson's body there was another clue. A small matchbox with the words "Cantrips and Crows" printed on the top. Miles had heard about this place from some of the party patrons, it was underground in the sewers.

"This place... sounds nasty to me. Looks like whoever killed Johansson had ties there." Suddenly, a faint noise came from outside.

"Who's in there!"

Miles pulled out his pistol, but as it came out, a bright light shone through the window Johansson's body was found in front of. Miles was blinded for a moment, but when he came to, he saw an Elven Woman looking at him through the window next door. She saw Miles next to Johansson's dead body, with a pistol out. This was much more than incriminating. The woman motioned towards a glowing blue object in her room. Miles was smart enough to know that this was some sort of device to alert the local authorities.

Miles grabbed the piece of paper and the matchbox and hurried out of the room. Leaving the scene of Johansson's murder, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure, hunched over. He quickly ran towards a window, opening it and jumping out. Miles quickly gave chase, but as the figure jumped out, he fired a shot a Miles. Miles dived down to the ground, narrowly avoiding the bullet. He got back up, and dusted himself off, but he had wasted valuable time, and by now the police were here.

Miles asked himself if he had the wits to get himself out of this one.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Miles held his hands above his head as the authorities rushed in. The Kirin Tor police did not just consist of mages or magicwielders. There were a few warriors and rogues within the mix, but it was mostly mages. The entire group was led by a single elven man clad in a rather flashy robe. He was tall, spindly, and gaunt. He had piercing azure eyes, that seemed to command an authority of their own. He talked to some mages next to them, giving them instructions and outlining how the case should be handled. Two warriors came up to Miles, and bound his hands in a magical device of some sort. Miles was quiet for the most part, but made an attempt to defend himself.

"It wasn't me... I found him like this. It doesn't mean I killed him."

"Yeah, that's what you all say. This and that. Look, kid, you were here with a gun. When we get back to Headquarters, just make it easy on yourself, and confess."

The two men started to walk Miles downstairs. As they passed the room where Johansson's body was, Miles could see a cavalcade of wizards investigating the area. He also saw some of the authorities investigating the bullet hole in the ground made by the escaping crook's shot. This whole scenario was surreal. Miles had never been arrested at the scene of a crime. Sure, he had been detained at other points, but never in the middle of an investigation. He could barely hear the voices of the police. His mind was blank. It was like someone took a gun to his head, and pulled the trigger. He was blank, mentally. In a way, he found the experience interesting. His mind was constantly going, and this reprieve was oddly soothing. It all came back to him when he was brought before the head investigator.

"This is the man?"

"Yeah. Two-bit joke is what he is." The warriors pushed Miles forward towards the elf.

"Well. I don't think we've ever caught a suspect in the middle of the act before. This is exciting." The elf looked over Miles, "You don't look like the killing kind. What's your name."

Miles didn't respond for a moment. One of the warriors hit him in the shoulder.

"You heard him, kid. What's yer name!"

"Miles Garling. That's my name, my name is- that's my name."

"Well, Mr. Garling, I'd like to have you know that this is a momentous occasion. Never even once have we caught a murderer at the scene. You've done us a great service in the public relations department."

"Look, I don't know what you guys think but I didn't do this. Sure, there's tons of evidence saying that I did, but I didn't! Someone else did it, I saw him escape out one of the windows."

The two warriors let out boisterous laughs.

"He's gotta sense of humor, he does!"

"What a load a bollocks! That all, kid! You must be deaf, dumb, and stupid!"

Miles felt ashamed to be made a mockery of by two clowns who probably never made it out of primary school. The elf addressed Miles, now.

"You really think that defense will hold up, huh." The elf crossed his arms.

"I can prove it. I'm a detective!" Miles was really straining to get his point across.

"Sure you are. The minute we let you loose, you're on the first gryphon back to Valgarde."

"Not even close. The guy who did this is still in the city. If I can prove that he did this, will you set me free?"

The elf thought it over for a while. Finally, he put his hands on the device holding Miles' hands together. The device disappeared. The two warriors seemed perplexed.

"But, Chief Investigator! This is ridiculous!"

"Thank you, whatever your name is."

"I'm Chief Investigator Frostfury. Now, Mr. Garling, I will give you 4 days to prove your case to us. If it is conclusive, then we will grant you your freedom"

Miles nodded his head, and started towards the door. The Chief Investigator grabbed his wrist and held his arm up into the air,

"And should you leave the city, this will stop you." The Chief Investigator left an arcane rune on Miles' arm, "If you should even take a step outside city limits, this will terminate you. Hopefully it will provide itself as an incentive." Frostfury let go, and Miles examined the rune. It was blue, but occasionally flashed red. It was rather ornate, with symbols swirling around a central figure.

"What do you mean by terminate," said Miles will trepidation

"Don't play a fool." Frostfury looked back at Miles, "Good luck, Mr. Garling. You'll need it."

Miles walked out of the mansion, looking at the matchbox he had picked up at the scene of the crime. He knew the assassin had frequented this place, and perhaps he could pick up some leads there. Outside, it was still raining, and now the wind was blowing through Dalaran. The buildings acted like canyons, directing the gale in strange and unpredictable patterns. The winds blew the rain almost sideways. The skies were backlit by the moonlight, giving the clouds an ephemeral vibe. Nothing seemed real, not in the wake of Johansson's murder, or the fact that Kirin Tor could eliminate him at anytime they pleased. The atmosphere swirled around Miles, like a calming maelstrom, if there is such a thing. He started to relish the moments he had now, for he realized that he might not have many more.

His mind reached a state of clarity in this moment. There was nobody outside, just Miles. He started to become the city. With this new "state of being", he now set out to find Cantrips and Crows.

He knew of an entrance to the sewers. It was close to the flight master and, very oddly, in plain sight. Perhaps the denizens above were just too afraid to go down into the depths of this underworld. Miles approached the entrance, and headed down a tunnel. Rain water was flowing down, but instead of flowing straight into the sewers, the water was diverted to small vents. This was an odd, but very practical design choice. As if the Kirin Tor, in their rebuilding of Dalaran, wanted the underground portion of Dalaran to stay habitable. As Miles descended further, he ran into more sinister characters. Warlocks, Rogues, and practitioners of dark magic all resided here. As Miles walked past them, they all gave him suspicious looks, but none of them made any attempts to hurt him. Still, Miles felt uneasy and out of his element. After a few minutes of walking, Miles reached the large, sprawling complex underneath Dalaran. It was surprisingly developed. Shacks and Buildings could be found all across the sewers, some of them rather well built. The smell was, to say the least, off putting, so this was still a sewer. There were many long catwalks made of wood, which made it possible to get around without any trouble. Miles could see various different races conversing, trading, and living together. So here, in Dalaran, there were two civilizations. The magocracy of the Kirin Tor, and the anarchy of the Sewers. It didn't take much effort to find the bar. It was, like many of the structures down here, made of wood. Miles walked into the bar to see a variety of characters seated around. Ogres, Trolls, Orcs, Goblins, and many others were present here. They all wore dark clothing, and their weapons were clearly visible. It would be foolish to assume that this was the only weaponry they had, however.

Miles sat down at the bar next to another darkly-clothed figure. It's face was not shown, and its body shape was ambiguous, but it was definitely human. A bartender approached Miles,

"Pick yer Poison" said the man as he showcased a large amount dangerous and illegal liquor.

"White Wine, if you know what that is." Miles spoke with his typical condescending tone. The bartender's face deformed into a disgusted look, but he poured Miles his wine anyways.

"That'll be 20 silver. 10 for the drink, and another 10 for that insult."

Miles slid his money across the counter, which the bartender took with fury. The black figure now turned towards Miles,

"White Wine. In a place like this?" her words were laced with a combination of confusion and fascination.

"A woman. In a place like this?" Miles responded with a chuckle.

"I asked first." Miles was caught off-guard by her lightning quick response. He paused before giving his answer.

"Low alcohol content. I'm a fool when I'm drunk." He was abashed. Miles was never one for small talk.

"So you can't hold your liquor. Pfft, and I thought men were strong these days." The woman took a drink of some strong mead or lambent.

"I'm not what you would call a strong man. Well, physically at least." Miles sipped his wine, and got a closer look at the woman's features. She was indeed beautiful, with black hair moving down her face like a waterfall. She had a pale complexion, common for people from Northrend. This only accentuated her lips, which were an island of red in a sea of white. Her eyes were amber, and caught the light of the rather dark tavern. If you squinted your eyes, all you could see was her eyes, her lips, and her hair. These features seemed to have a magnetic effect on people. Even Miles was effected.

"So, what are you then?"

"I'm a detective. You know I go around and solve cases."

"So, what's your new case, boy." She leaned in

"Why would you want to know. You don't even know my name."

"Well, tell me then. Don't leave me wondering." She had this mischievous smile on her face, which seemed to multiply the effect she already had.

"I'm Miles. And I only think it's fair if you tell me yours."

"Midnight." Miles chuckled when she said this, "Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Some contrived name."

"I don't care for names. Names don't make a person."

"What does then?"

"A career." said Miles with distinction.

"You already said you're a detective. And you didn't answer my question." Once again, Miles paused before answering.

"Paul Johansson is dead. He was a local socialite. I'm sure you know who he is."

"I do, and I'm not surprised. People have been trying to kill him for ages."

"Really, now? Then perhaps you know who the assassin is. He frequented this bar recently." Miles slid the matchbox over to Midnight. 

"I wouldn't know." Midnight choked on her words.

"But you do know that he had people after him. How?" Now Midnight was the one lost for words.

"I was part of a guild of assassins. I was recently demoted, however... I didn't kill a target I should've."

"Then it's this guild that killed Johansson?"

"... Yes. I was originally assigned to kill him, but I had failed to kill one of his associates earlier, so I was removed from the job and replaced by another."

"Do you know who he is?"

"He's a troll. But he's not just any troll. He was raised in Silvermoon, taught by the elves, raised by them. He's cultured."

"And why does your guild want Johansson dead, anyways?"

Midnight brooded over her flagon of mead.

"Not my guild, anymore. They don't just want him dead, you know. He was part of a trio. Him, a man named Rasmussen, and another man named Lindroth. They were all bootleggers, working together to bring illegal substances and goods into Dalaran. They stopped years ago when the city was destroyed, but ever since it was rebuilt, they're back in full swing. The guild wants them dead, and Johansson was just the start. When the rest of them are dead, the guild will be able to take over the trade for good."

"So, I'm dealing with two sets of criminals."

"Sure. But that's not all they're after. Johansson was the one who dealt with the group's finances. He's got a vault somewhere, and he was the only one who knew where it was. Johansson probably didn't fess up, though."

Miles thought about the piece of paper that read "ROSETTA". It most likely had something to do with the vault, but it wasn't an address or even a location. A password, maybe, but that's it. Just a name.

"So, the guild is going to go after Rasmussen and Lindroth, next?"

"Yeah. Rasmussen's got a party happening in 2 days, and Lindroth is coming from Ironforge to Dalaran next week."

"Hmm... Could you get me into Rasmussen's party?"

Midnight slid an invitation across to Miles.

"I had to steal these from two rather wealthy magistrates. Make good use of yours."

"Thank you, Midnight." Miles started for the door, but Midnight was right behind him.

"You can't just get valuable information from me and just expect to leave, Miles." She was obviously very furious at Miles.

"Oh, yes I can. I'm done here, which means I'm done dealing with you. Although I have to say, when this is all said and done, this whole operation, we can meet for drinks later."

Miles then walked out of the Bar, and started towards his flat. It was getting near dawn, now. The wind and the rain were still going, and he was becoming very tired. As he was walking home, he had a very strange feeling with him. It was like Midnight was with him the whole time. He couldn't stop entertaining thoughts about her, and how she was related to the case. The sun was just about to come up. A dark blue hue bathed the city, and the crystals that topped the spires of Dalaran radiated this light. Miles got to his flat, and wondered about how the case would unravel over the next few days. And so, after all this excitement, he went to bed.


End file.
